


Consummation

by pagan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, HP: EWE, Marriage of Convenience, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Travel, marriage law
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagan/pseuds/pagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had better have big breasts, Draco thought tiredly. Merlin, big breasts might not be enough. She’d better own a great pair with fantastic gold-tipped nipples, if this is going to work!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
> 
> Beta Readers: lorcalon

It was too good to be true, Draco Malfoy told himself as he stared at his companion as they both walked along the corridor. An angry but silent Hermione Granger was an abnormality, especially since she had been silent for a good fifteen minutes. It had to be a record, he mused silently, considering her usual need to go on and on about almost everything.    
  
It didn’t last long.  
  
“I cannot believe the nerve of the Ministry,” Hermione Granger exclaimed angrily as she slammed open the door of the Grande Suite in the Hotel Grande Bretagne in Athens, completely ignoring him.   
  
Equally oblivious to the butler standing by the door of the suite waiting to welcome them, she stalked into the room and threw her handbag onto the plush carpeting in frustration. Even her bushy hair seemed to quiver in indignation. The butler discreetly picked up the handbag and set it down on an antique side table quietly. The bellboy pushed the luggage trolley into the room and hastily unloaded their bags while his  irate, bushy-haired  companion stomped and grumbled her way to the separate sitting area.   
  
The butler, satisfied that the bellboy had finished with his duties, gave him a look that seemed part plea and part fear; he nodded, gave the butler a tip of twenty Euros and both the butler and the bellboy left gratefully.  
  
He sauntered into the sitting room; there she was, staring out the window to the Acropolis. She must have heard him walk in, because she swung around to face him: her new husband.   
  
“To pass that stupid Marriage Act was one thing, but then they had to insist they choose who ended up with whom.”    
  
He sighed, resigned to the fact that she was still grumbling about it.   
  
“ _We came up with the best magical matches_ ,” she intoned, in a horrendously fake cheery voice, complete with the requisite open-close quotation hand gestures. He rather thought it looked like she had claws and was imagining scratching the Minister’s face off.  
  
“And to insist on _proof of consummation_ ; that is too much.” Her voice sounded screechy now. He shuddered delicately; she obviously did not think his ears had suffered enough abuse from her.  
  
Her arms flailed about as she stomped around the room in a continued tirade, causing the shirt she wore to pull tight across her chest and her breasts to jiggle, as well. She sat herself down on one of the arm chairs scattered tastefully about the room, drumming her fingers on the armrest, unable to keep still.  
  
Draco Malfoy, said husband, wondered whether Granger - _no, wait,_ Malfoy _now, lucky him_ \- had sizeable breasts. He judged they were about a handful, from the way her shirt button, the one situated at mid-chest, seemed to be straining to hold the sides of the shirt together.   
  
Not to say he was so superficial as to want a wife with big breasts, but he was a bloke and, quite frankly, when forced into a marriage with no say as to whom his bride might be, big breasts would be viewed favourably.   
  
Seeing as the bushy-haired monster over there had had a penchant for physical and verbal abuse towards his person over the years, big breasts on her would definitely be welcomed. Not to say he hadn’t spent enough time with Granger to wonder what she actually looked like beneath all her work robes. He was a man, after all.   
  
He sighed again. Seating himself on the chair closest to her, he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the headache that had been building up ever since they got to Athens.   
  
“Granger, this is getting old. I’ve had to listen to you complain about this for the whole day. Yes, you did,” he said, as her mouth opened to argue that point. “In fact, you’ve been complaining about this Act for the past three months.”    
  
  
He glared at her as she opened her mouth again. “No, it’s my turn now. You’ve been having this absolute _bitchfit_ over something we both know cannot be changed. We’ve tried, remember? It’s a done deal. The Act will not be repealed.”   
  
He stared her down as she tried to say something. “And no, even if the Act is repealed, no Malfoy has ever, ever been involved in a divorce. So,” he continued firmly, trying to ignore the pounding building up between his eyes thanks to Granger’s incessant whining, “we’re married, we’re staying married and that is that.”  
  
His new, _reluctant_ wife scowled at him. He ignored her by staring out the window.   
  
The Marriage Act was an attempt by a desperate Ministry to curb the declining wizarding population, already decimated by Voldemort during the War. As pure-blood marriages seemed to be producing Squib after Squib after Squib, the idea of matching pure-bloods with half-bloods or Muggle-borns to ensure the survival of the race was thought to be the best option available.   
  
Ergo, the Marriage Bill.   
  
The Minister must have realised the outcry such legislation would generate, for the Bill was drafted in secret almost solely by the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, in consultation with the Minister himself, and passed into legislation in a matter of weeks.  
  
When the news had broken, he knew Granger’s democratic little soul had been shocked by the archaic notion of forced marriages sanctioned by the Ministry. She was certainly loud enough in her complaints and protestations. She had organised protests outside the Ministry to loudly decry the Act. She had even managed to rope him in.   
  
However, once faced with the hard truth of their very existence dying out, most of the Act’s detractors and protestors had quietly shut up and started to comply with the provisions of the Act: the tests run on magical abilities and intelligence; checks on genealogy and family histories. All in the name of attempting to come up with the best matches possible. It was intrusive, and sometimes invasive, but eventually everyone had complied.   
  
Though she had given in, he knew Granger had not acquiesced gracefully. Stubborn as ever, she had continued to write letters of complaints to the Ministry and even insisted he sign her petition to repeal the Act, and that was after they had found out they were matched with the other. As the end result was what he had been planning - no, hoping - would happen for quite some time, he had flatly refused and their interactions had been rather hellish after that.   
  
From the mulish look on her face, Draco knew Hermione was getting ready to complain again, despite his polite imprecations to her to shut up. He decided to cut her off before his headache turned worse. He knew Granger; once she got started, it took her a long time to shut up.   
  
“Yes, we have a declining population and yes, we need to boost up our numbers. To do that, wizards and witches of marrying age need to start getting married and procreating, but there was no reason to pick our spouses for us.” Granger’s tone was whiny.   
  
_She had better have big breasts_ , Draco thought tiredly. _Merlin, big breasts might not be enough. She’d better own a great pair with fantastic gold-tipped nipples, if this is going to work!_  
  
“And look, they matched us. Us, Malfoy. They matched us!” There was a note of incredulity in her voice, which irritated him and galvanised him into nipping this nonsense in the bud, and soon, before he forgot his reasons and turned Malfoy tradition on its ears to petition for a divorce.   
  
“Granger,” he said, a tad impatiently. “Yes, I know they matched us. We just got married not three hours ago.” She glared at him for that bit of sarcasm.   
  
“What I don’t get is your problem with that. Have we not been colleagues these past three years? Have we not finally gotten along? And horror of horrors, did we not finally become friends? Have we not been friends for well over a year, Hermione?”   
  
At his usage of her first name, Hermione’s anger deflated. He could see it, from the sudden slumping of her shoulders to the slight downward tilt of her lips.   
  
Yes, they had become friends. It happens when two people are forced into close proximity for eight hours a day, five days a week. He had courted and wooed Granger, figuratively speaking, into leaving the Ministry and working for him at his potions research facility.   
  
After having been acquitted of all charges against him during the War, he had set out to rebuild the family name. With the help of the very-much-intact family fortune, he had started his own company, dealing in potions research and brewing.  
  
With a savvy and near-genius touch for potions that he knew sometimes surprised even Hermione, Draco had revolutionised his research facility, and the potions they created. With an agenda for expansion, he had needed another Potions Master, and who better than the current one hired by Ministry? It was known that the Ministry had the pick of the crop when it came to potion makers. That it happened to be Hermione Granger had made no difference; Draco Malfoy had wanted the best, and the best available was Hermione.   
  
And so it had begun.  
  
He had requested meetings with his old nemesis, made business proposals, promised profit sharing. He had even offered her the joint ownership of all intellectual property rights in her potions whilst under his employment. She had been surprised by his approach, but all interactions had been businesslike and, above all, polite and civil. Hermione had admitted to him one day, after they had started working together, that it was what she had termed ‘ _the new him_ ’ that had her agreeing to leave her job at the Ministry and join him. That, and his agreement that she had free reign on research and development matters.   
  
Working together had meant quite a bit of interaction between them. That had slowly but steadily moved into a tentative friendship between the two. Not to say the transition was smooth; they had been bound by perceptions and feelings that stemmed from their time in Hogwarts and there was still the War and what his family had done to her and hers. But the politeness and civility he had accorded to her during their negotiations had continued, and Hermione was not one who held back when she felt that a person had reformed.   
  
So the transition occurred; Hermione had gotten to know him, he had gotten to know her, and they had become friends, with much more in common than she’d had with Potty or the Weasel, or than he had ever had with Pansy or Goyle or even Zabini.  Intellectually, they were equals. Plus, he discovered that they _liked_ the same things.  
  
But now this … they had signed the marriage contract not four hours ago and at the rate they were going, his head would explode from the headache caused by her incessant whining before they could even have sex to consummate the marriage. He’d be lucky if his headache went away before dinner.  
  
He glanced at her. She was biting her bottom lip and from the look on her face, making a decision on something. Draco hoped her decision would mean sex, but the way things were going, she was probably coming up with some harebrained notion of attempting to get the Act declared void _ab initio_. Again.   
  
Great was his surprise, then, when she stood up, walked over to him and said, “Right, Malfoy, let’s get on with it then,” and started to remove her clothes.


	2. II

Draco stared at Hermione and silently gave thanks to the gods as she started to unbutton her light blue shirt. He’d spent the last few hours wondering how to broach the subject of consummation without her shouting or causing him serious bodily harm. But somehow, she had finally seen the proverbial light and had already decided for him. At least, it had also meant she stopped complaining about their forced marriage.   
  
He hoped.  
  
She shrugged out of her shirt, exposing her full breasts, which were encased in a bright red bra. She then toed off her shoes, unzipped her trousers and shucked them off. Draco stared at his wife, now standing proudly before him in her underwear. For the first time in a long while, Draco didn’t know what to think; his brain seemed to have frozen up. She surprised him even more by reaching back to unclasp her bra, freeing her breasts to his view. Yup, he thought, dazed as she let the bra drop, definitely more than a handful. Her hands now hooked on the elastic band of her red underwear, she cocked at eyebrow at him as if challenging him: _I’ve shown you mine, now show me yours._   
  
Not needing to be told twice, Draco stood up and hurriedly ripped off his shirt, trousers and shoes in record time. Clad only in his pants, he walked closer to his wife. He decided he liked that word: _wife_. Especially one who looked as good in her underwear as Granger did.  
  
Reaching out, his eyes met hers; he put his hands over hers and, with a little pressure, slowly rolled her underwear down her long legs. He swept his right hand across her stomach and her hip – surprise, surprise, his wife was as hairless down there as a new born babe and he could see the pouty pink lips of her cunt peeking through - before slowly cupping her, causing her to give a little gasp and shiver, all the while never breaking contact with her eyes.  
  
Slowly, he dragged his left hand over her breasts, causing the nipples to pucker and grow tight. He gently tweaked one; Hermione closed her eyes and swayed imperceptibly closer to him. Allowing himself a small, triumphant smile, his right hand started caressing her, stroking the plump lips that were now growing slick and wet. He trailed one finger firmly across the seam, feeling a new spurt of moisture from Hermione, and rubbed it across her clit. His left hand continued to pull, squeeze, pluck, and pinch at her nipples. From her reaction, Draco didn’t doubt that his wife would enjoy a good fuck when it came down to it. And, hopefully, that would put an end to further complaints on the damn Marriage Act or the Ministry.  
  
Hermione was panting slightly, a light sheen of sweat now visible all over her body. Draco thought she had never looked as amazing as she did now: her lips parted, breasts swaying gently with every exhalation, her hips seeming to arch towards him, begging for more. He slipped one finger inside her, then two, feeling her warm walls clenching and gripping him. Slowly, he began to move his fingers in and out while, with his thumb, he started massaging the nub concealed between her swollen folds.   
  
She gave another breathy moan in response, which caused his cock to twitch in anticipation. His balls felt hot and tight; quite frankly, he couldn’t wait to wrap her legs around him and fuck her.   
  
A singularly hard thrust of Draco’s fingers caused Hermione to shudder. He lifted her left leg to wrap around his hip, allowing himself even more access and now a clear view of his fingers working between her legs. He glanced down at the erotic scene of his fingers, glistening with her juices, slowing pumping in and out of her cunt. The folds of her pussy seemed to cling to his fingers on each withdrawal, as if unwilling to miss a single moment of contact, and she moaned. Her arms lifted to his shoulders as she leaned even further into him, hips tilted up, asking for more.   
  
“Malfoy,” she panted, “I need to have you. Inside me. Now.” Her hands clutched at his shoulders as she rubbed against his erection.   
  
“Rather impatient, aren’t we?”  He smirked, but then hissed as her hand moved to stroke his cock.    
  
Walking her backwards to the couch situated a few feet away, he continued with his stroking, making Hermione pant and moan even more. He pushed her down and managed to tear off his pants. He breathed a sigh of relief as his erection sprang free of its restraints. The head was already leaking pre-cum. He stared at her, lying on the couch, legs spread wide, her swollen folds pink and glistening, waiting for him. He climbed over her and settled himself between her legs.  
  
Without further ado, Draco thrust his cock into her hot wet cunt.   
  
Hermione cried out: whether from the shock of the sudden penetration or the tingling sensation arising from where they were joined, a sensation he knew to be their magical signature sealing their marriage contract - the evidence of consummation - he didn’t know, nor did he care.  
  
Draco withdrew from her almost completely, to immediately surge back in again. She gasped, and the sound spurred him on, as he rode her harder and faster. With a low growl, he withdrew completely, grabbed her, turned her around and bent her over. He slid into her again, the new position allowing him to penetrate even deeper.  It seemed she couldn’t get enough of feeling him slamming into her, for she spread her knees further apart, grinding back against him. He took her hard and fast, as if he could fuck all thoughts of the Marriage Act and the Ministry out of her, as if he wanted to assure her and himself that the consummation of the marriage was more for their benefit that that of the Ministry’s. From what he could hear and see of her movements, Hermione seemed to love every minute of it: the thrust and slide of his hard cock, hot and insistent inside her. He wrapped his hand in her hair, pulling her head up, arching her back. Then he leaned over her and bit her shoulder, all the while smoothly and furiously pumping his cock in and out of her.   
  
She moaned even louder.   
  
He could see his cock, wet from her, flashing in and out in frenzied thrusts. He felt as if he would come at any second; her cunt was hot and tight and slick and felt so damn good around him. Not wanting to leave Hermione unsatisfied, he reached his hand around her, searching for that little nub amidst her swollen folds.   
  
_Found it_ , he thought triumphantly, and proceeded to massage and stroke his wife to orgasm. He did not have to wait long; very soon, he felt Hermione tense up and, with a shudder, she cried out his name as she climaxed.   
  
_Draco, not Malfoy_ , he thought with breathless satisfaction. Her walls seemed to clench, rolling and squeezing all around him, eliciting another groan from him. And then, finally, he came with a rushing release, moaning her name as he emptied himself inside her.  
  
They both slumped onto the couch, too tired and too sated to say anything. Draco shifted so that he was lying next to her. Pulling her into his arms, Draco’s last thought before he drifted off to sleep was that getting married definitely had its perks. For one, it was a great cure for a headache.


	3. III

“So, um, now that we’ve, you know, consummated this,” Hermione mumbled, “what happens now?”  
  
They had finally stirred from the couch, both looking rather more embarrassed at the passionate interlude than anything else. Hermione had quickly grabbed the nearest article of clothing and shoved her hands into the sleeves, not realising that it was actually Draco’s shirt.   
  
Draco, with no shirt, merely contented himself with pulling on his boxers before taking a seat on the couch. “Now, we unpack and see what there is to eat in this place.” He blithely ignored her frown, preferring instead to enjoy the view of his wife all rumpled and dishevelled in his shirt, haphazardly buttoned, _sans_ bra and knickers. It was an inspiring sight; much better than the Acropolis.  
  
It was true that at first he had, like Granger, been appalled by the Marriage Act, though not for the same altruistic reasons as Hermione. He had been afraid that the Ministry would have matched her with another and he had been very relieved to find out that they were paired together. Of course, Granger didn’t know that, and he wasn’t about to tell her, but he had been feeling the strong pull of attraction towards her ever since they became colleagues.  
  
Propinquity: that was what it was; attraction was inevitable, after spending all that time together.  Long, close hours had been necessary for a proper, functioning business, but then, it slowly transformed into something more, and once they started to get to know each other, there was no turning back. Not for him. Working lunches together became dinners together after work. Then it had moved on to seeing each other for non-work related matters: drinks at the pub, lunches and dinners on weekends. They had become friends, and he had felt the pull of Hermione Granger. From the irrepressibly bushy hair to the soft pink lips, from the warm smiles that greeted him every morning to wondering what she looked like under all her clothes; it all added up and sucked him in until he was ensnared by her.   
  
And then that bloody Marriage Act popped up.   
  
He was on pins and needles, wondering if they would be matched up or if he would lose her to someone else. He felt that they matched. He knew they’d be right for each other. All that time spent together had shown him that they were compatible and he felt more comfortable and so much more himself, with her, than with any other female.  Thank Merlin the buggering Ministry had finally gotten something right for once and paired them up. Now with that little hurdle cleared, the only thing he needed to do was to convince her that them being married was the best thing. Big step, that. Great sex was one thing, happily ever after was quite another altogether.    
  
“Malfoy, I’m serious.”  She sat down next to him and he could smell her scent, a subtle combination of oranges and mint with just a hint of ink and parchment. There was the scent of sex and his cologne and, yes, his smell, on her skin. That reminded him she was naked under his shirt; no bra holding in those lovely breasts and no knickers covering her. He wondered if his spunk would still be clinging to her folds, whether it would still be that lovely reddish pink from everything he’d done to her. His cock twitched, clearly remembering how it felt to be inside her. He cleared his throat; she was looking at him expectantly, obviously wanting him to say something.  
  
“Hermione,” he started, looking at her and wondering if she could perhaps feel for him what he felt for her. Oh, he knew she felt affection for him; Hermione Granger had a warm, open heart and he knew she cared about him. She also cared about Potty and the Weasel and that damn orange cat, all her friends, and every house-elf in England, Wales and Scotland. Frankly, the woman was a bleeding heart. Hermione Granger: champion of lame ducks. What he wanted to know was if she _cared_ for him; more than just platonic feelings, more than just her thinking of him as another one of _her boys_ or, worse, another one of her _causes_.   
  
Catching hold of her hands, he tried again. “Hermione,” he said, “I know you have reservations about this marriage, what with the Act and all, but I think,” he drew a deep breath, “I think, it would be good. Between us, I mean.”  He looked at her; she didn’t seem to be pulling away but opened her mouth. Afraid she would start protesting, he hurriedly continued. “Think about it: we’re friends, aren’t we? We share the same interests; we work well together.”   
  
“Malfoy –”  
  
“Draco. Please.”  
  
“Draco, working well together isn’t a good basis for a marriage.”  Ah, reasonable tones. How they could hurt unreasonably.   
  
He shook his head. “I disagree. Working well together, especially where it counts,” he gave her a pointed look, “is a pretty damn good basis. Are you saying you didn’t enjoy what we just had?”   
  
She blushed at that. “But surely we need more than just good sex.” She shook her head, causing the shirt to slip down one creamy shoulder. “We don’t even know each other that well. I don’t even know what your favourite colour is, or … or, if you like peas,” she added plaintively, her gaze locking onto his hand holding hers.   
  
He reached out with his other hand to pull the shirt back into place, unconsciously rubbing the smooth skin of her shoulder as well, soft and warm. “Again, I disagree. You know me better than anyone else does. No,” he said, when she tried to interject, “don’t interrupt. You know me, Hermione. You’ve known me for years. You know who I am, what I’ve become. It doesn’t matter what my favourite colour is, or whether I like peas, which I don’t, incidentally, but you know the important bits. You know how I treat my employees, how I run my business. That should tell you what my principles are. We’ve had conversations on so many things, in and out of work; you’ve heard my opinions on books, movies, politics, even what I think of Mrs. Newton next door. That tells you about me, about the kind of person I am. Are you telling me you’ve not been listening all this time?”  
  
He ducked his head down to look at her; she was chewing on her lower lip again, a sure sign she was thinking. The last time she’d done that, it had turned out very well for him. He hoped, not for a repeat of the rousing sex session - not that he wouldn’t welcome that - but for now, he hoped to hear something, anything, that could be a sign that she even felt a smidgen for him what he felt for her.   
  
She gave his hand a small squeeze and looked at him. “In that sense, you’re right; I do know you, Draco.” He felt a sense of relief.  It didn’t last very long though.   
  
“Just like you know me. And just like you know how I feel about marriage. For me, it’s always been something both parties entered into willingly. Love should be the foundation of a marriage, not something dreamed up by the Ministry and … and… forced down our throats and based on good working relationships.” She sounded disgruntled at the end of it.   
  
He almost smiled at that; so that was the issue at hand. Feeling almost giddy with relief he asked nonchalantly, “So, you want romance under the stars, then? Dancing in the moonlight, that kind of thing? Is that it?”  
  
She grinned at him sheepishly. “Yes. And being swept off my feet, let’s not forget that bit. Working together seems too clinical.” She said earnestly, “Surely you want more out of this marriage than just a colleague-cum-friend whom you sleep with occasionally?” She blushed after saying that.  
  
He pretended to ponder that question, which must have irritated her, because she pinched his arm.   
  
“Ouch! That hurt!” He rubbed the spot. She was looking at him searchingly, and her face gave her away. She really did want something more in this marriage. Well, so did he, and perhaps it was time he told her.  
  
“I think I should be honest with you. I am glad that I married you, and yes, I want more than just a fuck buddy-cum-colleague. I want a wife, in every sense of the word. I want that wife to be you. I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time, and I am not going to complain about an act of extreme foolishness from the Ministry when it got me what I wanted.”  
  
“You wanted me?” She sounded shocked.   
  
“Yes. Merlin, wasn’t I clear enough? I wanted you; I still I want you. If not for that silly Act, I would have properly courted you, candlelit dinners, romance under the stars, all that sort of thing. You would have seen; I would have made my interest known. It’s all a bit buggered up now, thanks to those meddling fools, but it doesn’t mean we can’t have that. It doesn’t mean we can’t have what you want.”  
  
“Are you saying you love me?” She stared at him, wide-eyed.   
  
His heart lurched; it would be so much easier if he told her what she wanted to hear, but he would be truthful. “I’m saying we could get there. We can get there. That is, if you want to try. The feelings, the foundation for that – it’s already there. On my part.” He looked at her, waiting, hoping.  
  
She reached out her hand and cupped the side of his face, looking into his eyes. What she saw there must have convinced her, for she moved forward, closing the space between them, and pressed her lips to his. For a second or two, Draco couldn’t move; the feeling of her lips on his had surprised him into stillness. When she raised her other hand to cradle the back of his head and started to climb onto his lap, he grabbed her hips and kissed her back, releasing all the pent up emotions he felt for her into their kiss.   
  
When he finally pulled back, breathless, he found her smiling softly at him. “Alright,” she said softly.  
  
“What do you mean, alright?” He needed to be sure.  
  
“I won’t deny that you’ve surprised me. But I also won’t deny that I do have feelings for you, as well.” She smiled at him. “I have for a while. I was sure you felt something for me too, but then the Act happened.” She shrugged, her fingertips tracing little patterns on his chest. She looked up at him. “I got rather carried away protesting it, didn’t I?” He nodded. “When it actually brought me what I wanted: you.”   
  
It would be the last coherent sentence she came up with, Draco promised himself, as he felt happiness surging inside him at her words, and he moved to roll her beneath him on the couch in an effort to prove to her again how well they worked together.  
  
  
 _Finis_


End file.
